“Chiquita was of Don Pedro’s life the sun. He worshipped her even as worships the good Catholic the Madonna. Never was maiden so beautiful or so graceful. Ah! like the deer was she graceful. And she was no plant of the hot house. There was none among all the herders who could throw the _riata_ as could Chiquita. Of all the _caballeros_ of Sonora there was not one who in riding could match her. There was no mustang so wild that she could not tame him. And shoot! Not in all California was there a better shot with rifle or pistol than Chiquita. “And, _Señor_, she was not afraid--as any _caballero_ she was brave. As free and fearless as the young eagle she came and went among the rough hill people. Once only, was any man so bold as to give to Chiquita the insult. Ah! _Señor_, beautiful to see it must have been! Almost dead they found Léon Bodigo, the half breed. All of his blood it had run out. The maiden’s little _cuchillo_, it was sharp, _Señor_. “No companions had Chiquita, save the birds and flowers, and the trees and brooks of the mountains,--and Juan, her cousin. But she was happy and had never the--what you call it, eh? Ah, I have it, care. She had not the care. She had never sorrow, and never had tears wet her beautiful eyes since she was small--so very small. “Juan it was, who was of Chiquita the slave. He was not so old as Chiquita. He was a lad only--fourteen years of the age he was--but there was no _caballero_ more strong of heart than he. Happy also, was Juan, for loved he not Chiquita? Yes, with all his soul he loved her. A thing wonderful to see was the love of Juan for the beautiful Chiquita! “When the _vaqueros_ made of the cattle the round up, with them rode Chiquita, and beside her was Juan--always Juan. You should have seen the riding, and of the herds the gathering, _Señor_. Nothing so grand is there now anywhere to see. “Many times when the throw was made for the branding, and the fierce long-horn to the ground was brought, it was with the _riata_ of Chiquita. And, Juan, too, made his throw for the iron. The count of Chiquita and Juan in the throwing of the cattle the best _vaquero_ could not beat. “But Paradise it is never to last. Dark days there came to the _rancheria_ of the Salvias. It was over again the story of--Eden, yes? In the beautiful garden the serpent? “One day to the _rancheria_ came _un Inglés_, an English Milord. A letter he bring from a friend of Don Pedro’s, asking that he be made welcome. That Englishman he was sick, very sick, _Señor_. Like a man who is starved he looked. _Dios!_ he was white. He was so thin that when the wind blew he trembled like a leaf that on the tree is dead, and poof! poof!--how he had the cough! He could not sit the mustang, and the _vaqueros_ they smile at him when he ride. So weak he was that on the ground he fall off--bang!